Getting By
by EntrancedCat
Summary: Inspired by SZCZ's topic in the paperpusher's message board, "The Early Invention of Daria". Kevin Thompson faces high school in Des Moines, Iowa of 1935.
1. Chapter 1

Daria tilted her head from side to side as she listened to the music carrying from the Lane's basement up to Jane's second floor bedroom. The music faded with a high, clear saxophone solo of a few bouncy notes on drum set.

"So what do you think, mon amie?" Jane asked as she carefully swished a paint brush in a jar of turpentine. Jane squeezed the smelly residue from the brush with an old cloth. She repeated the cleaning several times before being satisfied. Jane turned a lid tightly on the jar and put the brush on a rack to dry.

Jane carefully set the easel near a heat register close enough to help the oil dry but not so close to get dust on it or make it crack. Jane smiled as she felt the gentle warmth of the Lane's new oil-burner furnace rise through the ornately wrought grate.

"Well," Daria sat up from her position reclining with head off the side of Jane's iron-poster bed. She swung around to put her stocking feet on the heavy rag rug.

"Well," she continued her opinion. "It's done in a happy key like F with a jaunty 3/4 signature. See? I've been listening in music class even if they did ask me to sing silently so as not to throw off the real singers. But in reference to the topic on hand, in point of fact, I would say that happy little ditty was evidence you should stop storing open cans of turpentine in the basement where Trent and the Mystical Midnighters may succumb to fumes."

"Oh, Daria. You're just icky with modern music." Jane laughed but looked worried. "Yeah, it's happy, rollicking and one could almost dance to it, nigh onto barrelhouse it is. Very disturbing!"

"So you're concerned they aren't playing their usual blend of Avant-Garde jazz that goes over so well with the swells at the joint on Lincoln Street? Just these thirty seconds of drivel."

The happy music started again a minute later. Daria slipped on her boots; as she stood her ankle length black skirt covered most of the men's small size black work boots. The boots were at a hard shine and it was obvious had never seen more labor than walking to school in Des Moines, Iowa's three seasons of inclement weather. Daria pulled a short black wrap over her loose dark green sweater.

"Malt and a cheese burger?" She proposed to Jane. "Of course if you got the scratch, Jane. Did those dead-beat WPA guys pay you yet? Otherwise, my treat."

"Anything to get away from that." Jane pretended to shudder. "Let me grab a couple quarters, my turn to treat you, Chocolate for me the adventurous artist and I know, vanilla, the most vanilla of plain vanillas for the risk taker, Daria Morgendorffer."

"You know me all too well. Thank you all the same, Jane D. Rockefeller but let's go Dutch."

Jane took off her artist smock revealing a loose-fitting black sweater over her trim frame. Jane donned a pair of low-heeled black shoes. The two friends slipped out the front door and ambled down the street.

KT KT KT KT KT

Kevin Thompson paused several paces before the bottom of the imposing steps. He slowly scanned up the stairs to the column-flanked portico and the heavy wooden doors of Lawndale Lane High School. He drew his raccoon coat tighter about his muscular frame in that unseasonably cold September morning in central Iowa.

"Sorry, sir. Pardon me." Kevin instinctively said as a boy his age bumped into his suddenly stalled back and passed to one side.

"That chump called me 'sir'," The red-haired boy addressed the small group of girls who were following him and now giggling and casting glances at Kevin.

They ignored Kevin as they climbed the steps to join the knots of teeners entering the building.

Kevin winced and said to himself, "_Kevin, he's not buying gasoline from you. Just a kid your age and kind of scrawny. Hey, I remember him now; his flivver is in pretty good shape, probably why all those girls are following the runty little beanpole."_

Kevin heard heavy footsteps behind him and assumed a workman was approaching to begin his day in the school's boiler room.

"I'm telling you, Jane, Mike. It's like they couldn't decide where to stop in the order of Greek columns." A dry, almost toneless voice belonging to a girl stated behind him.

"Yeah," Kevin heard a male voice which he assumed was Mike, the owner of the boots. "Ionic flanking the front doors. Then Doric and Corinthian for the pilasters. Make up your mind, school board."

"And 'Lawndale Lane'?" Came a second female voice in a pleasant contralto. "What? Did they run out of ideas for a more original name?"

"Hey Daria, speaking on topic, so your Dad never joined that quasi-secret lodge?" Kevin heard Mike ask.

"Nah," came the flat voice again. "They won't let colored men in so he and Jodie's dad, Mr. Landon, joined The Loyal and Benevolent Order of Squirrels, Des Moines Ground Squirrel Branch."

"Don't call 'em 'gophers'," All three teen-agers said together.

"That's for those dumb Minnesotans." Contralto finished.

Kevin turned and was brought up short by the trio of teen-agers pausing to loiter and talk. The heavy-tread boots incongruously belonged to a short girl with auburn hair to her mid-back. Round frames of black Bakelite with impossibly wide lenses perched on her button nose. The oval face was not otherwise unpleasant, Kevin thought. He could guess that she was Daria, the origin of the low, monotone voice. Which left the honey gravel voice owned by a taller black-haired girl in closed-toe black shoes with low heels, Jane. She wore a short red jacket open over a loose black sweater a contrast but somehow, even to Kevin's undeveloped fashion sense, going nicely with her friend's dark heavy green jacket over pale yellow shirt. Both girls wore severely black ankle-length skirts. Kevin noted that the shorter girl's skirt hugged her hips tightly and the girl's short jacket and shirt did nothing to cover her hips.

Both girls were white, a feature Kevin would not otherwise note except that Mike was a muscular lightly-skinned colored boy about his age and a little taller than Kevin. Mike's dapper tan suit did not look like a hand-me-down, unlike Kevin's black suit going shiny at the elbows.

"_Dang, Dad told me to expect anything in these public high schools. How can he have a suit and boater spiffier than mine? Dad said the funeral home owners west of the river have some money. They bury a lot of people. Well, I'll just knock that high straw boater hat right off his noggin if he wears it past the Fifteenth. Hmm, that tall gal's family must have some money for her to be able to bend a big silver fork around her wrist just for jewelry."_

Four-eyes was eyeing him owlishly.

"Fresh fish. Fresh fish." She sang tonelessly, thus calling her companions' attention to Kevin.

Kevin grew uncomfortable as the trio eye-balled him up and drew closer.

Jane, the red-sweatered spoke first, "I don't think you're the foreign student we're rumored to get but judging from the awe you show over the building I'd guess you're still new to the hallowed halls of Lawndale Lane. Welcome to the first day of school; I'm Jane Lane."

"Daria Morgendorffer."

Kevin wondered if he shouldn't get a pencil and paper from his book bag to write that down.

"Mike MacKenzie," The colored boy stuck out a hand to shake.

Off put initially, Kevin finally shook the firmly gripping large hand.

"Kevin Thompson. Yeah, I'm new. I used to pump gasoline for old man Stevenson, then he canned me to give a job to a guy with a family. Just when I was advancing up to mechanic too. Looked everywhere but they're only hiring men with families now. Even Dad won't give me a job helping him build and repair houses; he says he's gotta help out anyone with mouths to feed. He made me come back to school."

Kevin was suddenly aware that he was climbing the steps with the three. They paused on the wide portico, neither veteran student nor new comer wanting to go into the building just yet.

"Shore to ship, shore to ship. Calling the good ships USS MacKenzie and Thompson," Jane sang out.

Daria chuckled and waved a hand in front of Mike's eyes then those of the equally gawking Kevin.

Kevin tore his eyes away from a blonde girl in a tight light-yellow sweater over a blue skirt riding just above her knees.

"What?" He protested. "I wasn't looking at anythings. I mean anything."

"Speak for yourself," Mike smirked. "I can look but"

"But you better not complete that statement, mon chéri." A colored girl came up on Kevin's side.

She linked arms with Mike and the two smiled at each other in wordless greeting.

Kevin uneasily considered Mike's interest in the blonde girl and his familiarity with the two odd but attractive girls he had just met. Still, it seemed to Kevin that Mike's main interest as with the brown girl now at his side.

"Hi Jodie," Jane and Daria greeted the new comer.

Jane made Kevin's introduction and he remembered to stick out his hand to shake after Jodie extended her hand.

"Hey Jane, Daria," Jodie addressed them. "Remember last spring you girls promised to help get me started on the yearbook first day of school? Well, pay up, don't welch on me now."

"I remember I was under the influence of the high alcohol content patent medicine Pops was promoting at the time," Daria said. "I therefore was not in my right mind and cannot be held to the vow. Ask Mom, she's my attorney."

"Baloney," Jane called as she linked arms with a scowling Daria and pulled her along after Jodie.

"Help, help, I'm being Shanghaied, Press-ganged, I tell you." Daria called to no avail.

"Hi bubs," an oily voice sounded behind Mike and Kevin. "Enjoying a view of the new bubs in town are we? I know I am!"

The red-haired boy Kevin had jostled seemed not to remember or care to comment as he stepped up alone to Mike and Kevin. His coterie of girls were gone.

"Upchuck," Mike began then sighed.

The young men turned back to watching the blonde girl and her tight sweater. She was talking to a group of other mostly-blonde girls and using vigorous motions to illustrate her points.

"Wait, I know her." Kevin said. "She's, um, Brittany Taylor. Yeah, she waitressed in that new trucker joint on the highway, Mom's. Then they fired her to give the job to someone with a family. Yeah, just like me."

"Oh, dear boy," The one improbably named 'Upchuck' said. "I don't think she is 'just like' you at all. Not where it counts, rrrrrrr."

"Kevin, this guy bumpin' his gums is one Charles Ruttheimer III but I would personally prefer it if you just called him 'Upchuck' like the rest of his devoted friends. Upchuck, Kevin Thompson."

Ruttheimer's grip was surprisingly strong.

"Pay no attention to Mike's prudishness, Kevin. I merely give honest voice to the thoughts and desires of all us red-blooded American boys when we see Iowa's fine examples of feminine pulchritude."

Kevin only dimly guessed what some of that meant but before he could answer Charles went on.

"My female friends, of which there are many, call me 'Chuck' or 'Charles'. At any rate, Mike, what are your predictions for your success at helming the Lawndale Lions this year?"

"The three Jayhawks are up from junior varsity. Yeah, they're beefy farm boys. I think they're going to be great at tackle and blocking. On offense, Robert is quick and has hands like glue for catching passes. But…"

"But no good quarterback prospects, right?" Upchuck finished to Mike's dejected shake of the head.

"Yeah," Mike admitted. "I'm good at planning plays and keeping the boys in line and motivated but I'm a pansy at quarterback. I just can't throw an accurate pass."

"Wait!" Kevin exclaimed. "You play football, Mike? Wow, that's the cat's pyjamas. The Lions are great. It's the only thing I'm looking forward to about coming back to school."

"You wanna try out, Kevin?" Mike sized up the big teen-ager almost for the first time. "We started practice already but coach could always use more players. First game not for two weeks. And there are the guys now! Hey, you bums, come meet Kevin."

Kevin happily turned to a loud group of teen-age boys climbing the steps twos or threes at a time. He bit back a comment as he noticed a fair number of colored and other non-white races in the mix. One whom Mike hailed as 'Robert' looked Mexican or something.

Still, they were enthusiastic as they greeted the new comer and slapped him on the back when they heard that he wanted to try out for football. Kevin let them pull him into school as a bell rang.

TD TD TD TD TD

"Sandi! Stacy!" Quinn Morgendorffer skipped in joy as she saw her two best friends at the bottom of Lawndale Lane High's steps.

"Quinn," Sandi and Stacy said, Sandi with restrained acknowledgment, Stacy in almost breathless excitement.

The three freshmen teeners each lifted and extended their left foot. Even Sandi giggled happily as they looked at each other's tan and white low-heeled shoes and low, trim white socks. Stacy's pair of socks were a bit longer than the other girls' and were neatly folded down an inch.

"Saddle shoes and bobby sox! We're all cute as a bug's ear!" Stacy exclaimed.

"Please Anastasia," Sandi said with a smile. "Suppress your unnecessary enthusiasm."

"Sure thing, Alexandra," Stacy smiled back.

"Thank you, Quinn," Sandi said. "Thanks to your father's connections we were able to get these shoes in the latest style ahead of every other teen-ager for only $1.55 a pair, a full forty percent off retail. But we must take a pledge to never divulge our secret source."

The girls dramatically stacked hands in the middle and repeated as one, "I so pledge."

Stacy spun in her light blue skirt. "Thanks for the tip, Sandi. This white skirt was inexpensive but using a little blue Rit dye sure makes it look like a million dollars! And patching the holes with different colors is sure to start a trend. See? A little yellow patch here for a subtle display on school color day."

"And Quinn," Sandi said to the redhead. "Dying alternate pieces of macaroni blue and yellow in your necklace is a wonderful to show your school spirt."

Their attention was drawn by the sun penetrating the heavy clouds to glint off a new polished Packard sedan pulling to a stop in the street.

"Wow, that's nicer than our Nash," Quinn exclaimed. "First dibs on dating the dreamboat who drives that. Or gets chauffeured."

The three girls gaped as a black-uniformed chauffeur opened the door and out stepped a girl about their age. She wore a long softly lavender dress with a jewelled brooch. That the girl was an Asian also caught their eyes. Sandi, Quinn and Stacy were used to the presence of non-whites in school and about the city but Asians were rare.

The chauffeur gave the girl a salute and drove off. Her head turning to take in what was obviously a new environment for her, she walked slowly up to the trio.

"Hello, friends. I am Tsuzuo Deshima. This is my first day in your school," the girl said slowly and with an accent unheard in the girls' experiences.

"Oh, wow, you're from China. That is so neat!" Stacy exclaimed. "Welcome to Iowa and Lawndale Lane High School. Um, we're freshmen; this is our first day of school here too."

"I am from Kyoto, Japan," Tsuzuo corrected gently. "I too am a, a freshgirl. Could you show me to the office?"

"We say 'freshmen', Tsuzuo," Sandi took charge and did not falter over the foreign name. "And, yes, 'Freshgirl' may have unfortunate, unwanted connotations and should be avoided. We'll help you find the office then get to your homeroom. It's probably the same as ours. But most important things first, your dress is so beautiful. It is almost too good for this school. And the brooch is delightful. You may wish to be careful and hide it from some of the less cultivated and more acquisitive lower-class girls and boys."

Sandi continued, "I am Alexandra Griffin, you may call me 'Sandi'. This is Anastasia Rowe, better known as 'Stacy'. And last we have Quinn Morgendorffer, her name alone need prompt no nickname."

"I would like an English name too," Tsuzuo said slowly. "Something to fit in and so people do not pronounce my Japanese name wrongly."

"Tsuzuo, Tsuzuo," Quinn said slowly, relishing the sound. "It's pretty but you're right. A lot of these goofs will get it wrong. Let's see. I know! How about 'Zoey'? It's easy to say but still has just the right ring of exoticism."

"Kah-winn," Sand said drawing out the name. "It's obvious that Tsuzuo is an expert at accessories. Look at that watch! Hmm, we do need an exotic name but one which alludes to her abilities. Ah yes, Tiffany' I think, after the famed jewellers of course."

"Oh, Sandi, you have a way with words," Quinn said but looked a bit crestfallen.

"Tiffany, Tiffany." Tsuzuo said the name slowly a few times while drawing characters in the air with one hand. "Yes, Tiffany Deshima, I like it. Thank you."

After the newly named student was startled by the bell, Stacy, Sandi and Quinn smiled slyly. Quinn took Tiffany's hand while Stacy linked arms with her and the four climbed the stairs and entered the building to begin their new school year.

KT KT KT KT KT

Kevin pulled off his leather helmet and put it on the bench by his locker. He enjoyed the cooling breeze through the high open window on his sweat-soaked short black hair.

"Hey Kevin," Mike said next to him. "That was a great play you called. Those West High School goons were completely caught off guard."

Kevin smiled and made humble noises as other Lawndale Lane Lions clapped him on the back and added congratulations.

"Aw, it's all you guys. You guys do great blocking so's I can get them long passes in the air."

"Okay, girls," Coach Gibson called to them. "Enough mutual admiration. Great game, but Altoona next week is the real test of your mettle."

"Metal, coach?" Kevin asked confused. "But we just play with this leather helmet and pads. Oh, you mean our cleats? Sure, I'll sharpen mine up but good before next game."

Kevin was even more confused when the football team laughed and some said, "Good one, Kev."

Coach Gibson shook his head but said nothing to that.

"Sure, Kevin," Coach said. "Okay, before you all shower—and don't worry about athlete's foot this year—get your helmets back on and get back out to the field. The principal wants pictures of your gorgeous mugs with the new cheerleading squad. If it's popular they just might have cheerleaders next season too."

"Cheerleaders!" Jaimie White said. "Ah, those short skirts are bee's knees."

"Yeah, granted," Mike said as he put his helmet back on and snapped the chin strap. "But do you want to see Upchuck in one of those skirts?"

"Ewww," The squad said as one imagining cheer squad leader Charles Ruttheimer III leading cheers with his megaphone while in a skirt like that his female team members wore.

The team trotted back out to the center of the field waving at the last Lawndale Lane fans leaving the bleachers. A middle-aged man sporting a thin black moustache directed team and cheerleaders on where to stand.

Before he went under the hood of his large bellows camera he told them, "Hey, teeners, I'm Vincent Lane of Lane Photography. Take and give a business card to your folks. We'll get a few shots in today to get something presentable for the trophy cases, right? And before you leave I'll pass around a pad and pencil left to right, back to front. Fill in your names, and correctly please, no off the cob business like the Altoona boys did signing 'Benito Mussolini' or 'Kaiser Wilhelm'. Your parents will think it's even less original and hilarious than I will."

Kevin was not paying close attention as Mr. Lane arranged them quickly. Kevin smiled widely and turned this way and that as directed. As the photo session came to an end he signed his name when the pad was passed to him. He was about to break ranks when the girl in front of him stepped back landing an athletic shoe on his football boot.

The slim Asian girl in the blue skirt and yellow sweater, school colors and dress of a cheerleader, turned to him. Kevin fell into her exotic warm brown eyes which slowly climbed up his uniform to meet his now widening orbs.

"Sorry," the girl got out slowly with a strange accent. "I am not used to doing all these stunts and in new shoes. Did I hurt you?"

"It's, it's okay," Kevin stammered. "Uh, I'm Kevin Thompson. I'm the QB. No, I'm not hurt. You're pretty light and tiny just a little waif. I mean, these boots are strong. No, I'm not hurt."

He was brought up short wondering just where he learned to use a word like 'waif' but the girl did not seem to notice.

"I am Tsuzuo, that is I am Tiffany Deshima," the girl said and smiled. "Kevin Thompson, oh yes, you are the nickel back in this game. Charles our leader explained it all to me."

"No, no," Kevin managed to say. "I'm the QB, the 'quarterback'. That's five times as good as a nickel-back."

Kevin paused to calculate that he had the ratio of nickel to quarter correctly. He nervously laughed at his own joke but Tiffany did not respond.

"So, Kevin the QB," Tiffany said.

Kevin was not sure if she was teasing him or as serious as she sounded.

"Charles and the girls talked a lot about the football team." Tiffany was saying. "They said that you live just outside of Des Moines on a big piece of land area."

"That's right!" Kevin enthused. "We got twenty acres and the house. It's really not far away but has lots of trees and a creek and stuff. Dad just likes to get away from the city after work."

"Good, trees and water," Tiffany smiled. "I want to go deer hunting, QB. Oh, there are Quinn and Stacy and Sandi. I need to go. Father is sending the car around soon."

Tiffany waved at a trio of girls at the edge of the field. She ambled over to them as Kevin stared after her.

"Whoa, partner," Upchuck's unctuous voice split through Kevin's daze. "Did she give you the old '23 skidoo', the rapid bum's rush, Kevin? Fear not, Oriental ladies are inscrutable in public but they say veritable tigers in the old struggle buggy. Rrrrrrr."

"Or so you've only heard said, Upchuck." Mike came up after talking to the football coach.

Before Upchuck could mount a rejoinder, Miss Janelle Morris the girls' health teacher and newly appointed cheerleading coach engaged him. Mike led Kevin from the field to the locker room with the rest of the team far ahead.

As they walked, Kevin attempted to make sense of his conversation with Tiffany. Tiffany? D something? Right? Tried to make sense of his conversation with her and the odd feelings he had when Tiffany had looked into his eyes.

"Darn, between 'Daria Morgendorffer' and some Chinese name Tiffany has and that Upchuck Rottweiler III kid, I really gotta start writing stuff down. Thank God, Mike's got a good old American name. Oh, and 'Jane Lane'; that's pretty easy to remember."

"Um, Mike, you're colored, right?"

Mike pursed his lips and stared down at the turf.

"What clued you in, Edison?"

"Well, you got dark skin," Kevin went on innocently. "I mean, it don't mean nothin' believe me, you're okay, a great team captain. What I mean is"

"Yeah, Kevin?" Mike said not unkindly as Kevin paused and kicked at a dirt clod.

Both football players waved at their coach then as he yelled at them not to tear up the field any worse than it already was.

"I mean you got Jodie, Mike. I know she's your filly. She's a pretty colored gal and she even helped me in math the other day. But you ever think about um, talking to, well let's say that new girl, Brittany or maybe that Daria? She's just as smart as you. You're both almost grinds."

Kevin did not see Mike swell up and give him a hard look. Mike was about to speak then softened and relaxed as he followed Kevin's gaze to a knot of four teen-age girls including Tiffany. They were laughing and talking while looking at brightly colored magazines. Mike looked carefully at Kevin and thought he could pinpoint just whom Kevin was giving the slant to. Mike considered a moment more before responding.

"Kevin, my great-granddaddy was born a slave. He was a damn fast runner, was that is until they cut off his right big toe because he ran away from his 'master' too many times."

The narrative and the tone in which Mike said 'master' pulled Kevin's full attention to him.

"He showed me that or the lack of that when I was eight, right before he passed. " Mike went on.

"He and Gramps and my Daddy told me that things are a lot better here in Iowa than the old Deep South where we come from. Better but they also said something almost nobody knows or will talk about: the Klan came up from the South once and lynched a colored fellow for daring to raise his eyes up to look at a white girl 'funny'. They covered a white man in hot tar and rotten chicken feathers for wanting to 'talk' to colored girls too much. Then they went away again, thank God. Kevin, I'm just sayin' be careful. You might come out okay but someone else might get into big trouble for 'talking'. Now how about you help coach put the equipment away? I'm going to get cleaned up and meet Jodie and Daria. I got a lot to think about too."

Mike clapped him on the shoulder and strode off before Kevin could even ask what 'clan' and 'lynched' meant.

DM JL DM JL DM JL DM JL DM JL

Just as Daria reached for the handle of Chez Lane's front door, the door was yanked open by her father, Jake Morgendorffer. Her dad almost collided with Daria and Jane as he stepped on the front step while talking to someone still inside.

"That's great, guys!" Jake enthused to someone still inside. "I'll get this to the radio station today and you'll hear yourselves tonight on KSBC as Mac's Home Repair sponsors the first fifteen minutes of the _Old Timey Down-Home Sweetbread Music Hour_."

Jane hopped out of the way of the briefcase which Jake was swinging.

"Oh Hi, girls. I gotta run. Daria, be home in time for supper, okay? Mrs. Landon is making some special Italian thing, something like, let's see, la-sag-nee? Anyway her garlic bread smelled pretty good in the oven. I hope it isn't too spicy."

Jake rushed off waving as Daria assured him she would be on time. The two friends proceeded through the door to find Jane's older brother, Trent and his three bandmates who formed the jazz quartet, The Mystical Midnighters. In their shirt-sleeves the four were gazing reverently at a record which Trent was holding.

"Let me guess," Jane said. "You hold in your hands the latest Dixieland, swing composition. Trent, don't hog it. Put that platter on the old gramophone and spin it, young man."

"Janey, I told you, Dixieland is old hat," Trent said.

"Yeah," His friend Jesse Moreno put in as he put his saxophone in its case. "They haven't done anything new in Dixieland for ten years. The Midnighters are all about innovation."

Nickolas and Maxwell, the other members agreed heartily. Jane smirked and quickly tried to grab the disc from Trent.

"Hey, that's precious, Janey!" Trent protested then he was forced to give it up or risk it cracking.

Jane read the label off the disc, "Mac's Home Repair and Renovations, Final Take."

"Janey, please." Trent begged.

Trent's pleas were to no avail as Jane put the record on the Lane's new model Victrola and dropped the heavy needle at the beginning.

Soon a tune unmistakably that of the Mystical Midnighters filled the room but confusing to Jane and Daria with its warmth, happiness and bounce. A few moments in Trent's voice came up with an enthusiasm Jane had rarely if ever heard him sing.

_If your house is falling down_

_Or just got a lot of cracks_

_To get it fixed up you can count on Mac's._

_If it's made solid out of bricks_

_Or just a pile of old sticks_

_To help you out Mac's is duty-bound._

_If you're laying in your bed_

_Lookin' up at the starry open sky_

_Mac's can slap on a new roof_

_To keep you warm and dry._

A few more verses continued the theme of some establishment called 'Mac's' being the answer to the needs of any homeowner for high-quality repair. The song ended with a saxophone solo and a few bouncy drum beats. By then Jane was nearly collapsed with laughter.

"The rhyme scheme reminds me of an ancient Italian poetry form," Daria said in her flat voice.

She blushed as Trent turned his brown eyes on her and he smiled at what he thought must be a compliment.

Jane and her friend put the clues together.

"So, brother dear," Jane said. "All that happy, bubbly music wasn't just a symptom of you cats inhaling too much oil paint. You were putting together a jingle for Mr. Morgendorffer. And it's getting played tonight on the—oh Lord help me!—_Old Timey Down-Home Sweetbread Music Hour_."

The Mystical Midnighters looked at each other sheepishly.

As Jane nearly bent over in giggles again, Daria asked, "So then, what's the going value for the souls of an Avant-Garde progressive jazz quartet? Did my Dad make you sign anything in blood? Mom's a lawyer and takes hardship cases but she might have a conflict of interest here. Or no interest at all."

"It's not like that at all," Maxwell the drummer protested. "We gotta compromise to get ahead."

"Yeah," Bass-player Nicolas added. "With a couple hours of free studio time and pressing a hundred discs for us, we can get our true music out to the world. Mr. Morgendorffer knows everybody in this backwater town. He can put our 78 in every department store in the county. Somebody influential will be sure to hear it and we'll be on the paved highway to Easy Street."

"Every home needs another coaster," Jane said.

Jane lost interest then and proposed to Daria, "Belly wash, mon amie?"

Daria knew the way and led her to the ice box in the kitchen. She turned back once to watch Trent put on his suit jacket and gather up his guitar.

"Yes, Jane, I am seriously in the mood for that new Ultra-Cola soft drink. Radio jingles stuck the desire into my head and my flat, scrawny belly. I think I can blame Dad for that too. See? Mac's Home Repair will get a huge uptick in business from the sweet-bread eating set."

Jane pulled out two bottles of Ultra-Cola and tried to act cool as she opened each by banging the bottle cap on the edge of the Lane's heavy kitchen counter, ignoring the church key hanging by a string to the side of the ice box. As she passed a cold bottle to an appreciative Daria, she made a mental note to try to blend her oil paints into the weird greenish-yellow shade of the liquid in the clear glass bottles.

JM DT JM DT JM DT JM DT JM DT

Jake Morgendorffer enjoyed the crisp fall air as he walked the few blocks from the Lane's house to his own. He whistled the new jingle's tune as he swung his briefcase happily.

Jake was a confirmed aficionado of the classics, Copeland was as modern as he liked to get, but he recognized that the young men had talent. A talent, he could craft and guide and manage. As he got closer to his own home his stride assumed a more dignified but still relaxed gait. He smiled as he saw his next client just pulling into the driveway and emerging from an old and well-maintained Nash.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson," Jake strode up as the man was getting out. "I hope I did not keep you waiting. I walked from another clients' place just a few blocks away."

"No, no," Doug Thompson said as the two men shook hands. "A man's gotta enjoy this weather before the white stuff flies in Iowa. Again."

Jake chuckled, "Well, the woolly bears predict a mild, short winter. But that's in contrast to _The Old Farmer's Almanac_. According to that, we're gonna get a deep snow cover and a long stint of three-dog-nights."

"You know," Mr. Thompson said as they walked to the front door. "My brother in Minnesota renders bear grease into jars to tell the weather. Seems to be as accurate as anything."

The two men laughed as Jake ushered his client into his house. He hung his and Mr. Thompson's wraps in the hall closet and put both their hats on the hall tree.

"Jake," Andrew Landon called as he came into the kitchen from the side door and hearing Jake's well-known limping tread in the hall.

Andrew stepped into the hall and adjusted course and demeanour as he saw Jake had company.

"Mr. Morgendorffer," He amended. "I'm gonna run down to the lumber yard this afternoon for some more planks. Those half-rotten boards in the garage wall will get replaced this weekend."

Doug Thompson ran his eyes up and down Andrew Landon's overall clad frame then turned his attention to papers he pulled out of his own leather document case.

"Thanks Andy," Jake said. "Just tell 'em to put it on my tab as usual."

Jake guided his prospective client into the den.

"He seems like a pleasant enough darky, though a tad overly familiar," Doug Thompson said as he sat in the chair facing Jake's desk. Doug glanced up to observe Andrew Landon's form going out the side door again.

"Well, Andrew," Jake started then stopped. "Yes, he is a great help around here. Helen and I bought this place knowing it needed some work. I'm all thumbs but Andrew can fix just about anything."

"Mostly they just need to know how to take orders like the Negros on my crews. They're just fine if someone's there to tell them what to do and keep an eye on them." Doug continued. "But I'm not here to discuss that."

"Nope," Jake said relieved they were getting down to business. "So Thompson contracting has gained quite the good reputation around Des Moines as one of the most established home repair shops around. I think we can increase your visibility throughout the county with just a few ads in selected free shoppers. Then as your business grows we can look to quarter pagers in the _Register. _I'm also thinking a billboard along County Highway 23 when the time comes. That's a major route for people heading home to existing neighborhoods and builders heading to suppliers."

Jake grew more excited, "And I've got a great new slogan for you. I thought it up last night! Just the thing for an established business seeking to expand."

When he saw Doug Thompson assuming a proper level of attention Jake expounded, "Thompson Contracting, no job too big, no job too small. We do it all."

"Oh, I do like that," Doug admitted.

"And I have a group of fine young musicians who can turn out quite a nifty jaunty jingle on that note when the time comes."

The two men talked business until the Morgendorffer's housekeeper came in with a tray of coffee and cookies.

"Thank you, Mrs. Landon," Jake said.

"_Michelle always knows when to show up. We're just about done here but I never know how to let a client know that and get rid of him."_

Doug sipped coffee and took appreciative bites of oatmeal raisin cookies. He glanced around Jake's study until his eyes fell on a framed photo above Jake's desk.

"Hey! Is that an autographed picture of old Black Jack himself? He reviewed us once in Belgium; I think he stood more ramrod straight than we did."

"Oh yes, General Pershing. You were in the Great War too, Doug? I saw some action in France until the unit realized that I was a greater threat to them than The Bosch and begged for me to be reassigned. Then I became an NCO adjutant to General Pershing's staff. That's where I finally got injured."

Jake shook out the leg with his slight limp. Doug nodded. The two men looked into each other eyes silently recognizing a fellow soldier who had been the target of shots fired in anger.

"I slipped on a lemon peel bringing Black Jack his afternoon cocktail!" Jake concluded and the two men laughed.

"Say, Jake, I bet you still remember how to handle a rifle. Let's get you out to my land come deer season."

"Venison sausage." Jake smiled. "That sounds great, Doug. And I have business with a wonderful meat locker in Altoona. They'll season it up good. If I can still hit the broad side of a barn that is."

Doug Thompson finished his cookies and coffee and took his leave. Jake walked him to his car and waved as Doug drove off.

Jake noticed Andrew Landon further inspecting the garage and went to talk to him.

"Hey Andrew, the big day is coming up. We're going to wow 'em with your folding coffee cup. And we have models in black and green, my kiddo's favorite colors! Those bankers will lend us the dough we need to get production started. We'll polish up my presentation a couple times yet but we're ready!"

"Sure, Jake, but are you sure you want me there too?"

"Oh yes," Jake enthused. "You can explain some technical details better than I can. Don't worry; they've got a new banker named 'Deshima' or something like that. A Japanese gentleman, he will listen to any new idea and decide on its merits. And your idea has more than enough good merits."

"I hope so Jake, I hope so."

HM JM QM DM ML JL RL

Helen Morgendorffer and her girls came home at that moment and Michelle Landon called them all in to supper.

"Daddy, Daddy, you're home." Quinn greeted Jake with a hug.

Daria smiled slightly at her father. The sisters were happy to see Jake home early well before his usual 7PM or later arrival. Daria accepted Jake's clumsy and earnest side hug.

"Good news, Jakey," Helen announced when they had all sat down around the dining room table. "Eric said there are major foreclosure cases coming up. They should need me down at the office full time for the next two weeks!"

"That's great! And the Nash is almost all paid off. A little extra money around here is going to be sweet."

"Mom," Quinn predictably started. "I might need a new pair of saddle shoes. Brown toes and tan heels are the new trend; I mean supposed to be the most durable."

"Quinn, we just got you saddle shoes and only because your father has contacts for deep discounts. Even so, dear, you don't need another pair." Helen said.

Daria eyed the pan carefully, shrugged, took a portion then passed the long pan of steaming noodles, cheese and red sauce concoction which Mrs. Landon had just placed on the table. She blew on her fork-full heeding Mrs. Landon's advice not to burn her mouth.

"_Umm, lasagne huh? It's good. Mrs. Landon even used that tomato and vegetable sauce she had us can end of the summer. Okay, I admit it, she was right that we would not regret the labor."_

"Quinn, like I've said," Daria added to her mother's comments. "Get your tight fist off some of those coins you have. I can hear them rattling in your drawer like I can hear the rocks in your head when you try to read Shakespeare. I bet you have enough wampum to spring for some good men's work boots like mine. Men's and boy's stuff is cheaper and lasts longer than anything they make for us female teen-agers."

Helen and Jake smiled at each other as they took in Quinn's stricken look at the suggestion of wearing men's boots and Daria's gentle smirk. Jake took Helen's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as their girls bantered with each other.

As she cleared the dishes Michelle Landon made a request, "Folks, Andrew isn't the only inventor around here. I want Quinn and Daria to try on something I came up with, a way to wear the same dress or skirt two days in a row."

"Mom," Quinn instantly protested. "Mom, Mrs. Landon, I just can't wear the same things twice in a row to school. Look, I'm not Daria. Tiffany, Stacy, Sandi and me made patches fashionable. Isn't that enough?"

"'Tiffany, Stacy, Sandi and I', dear," Mrs. Landon corrected.

Her eyes sparkled as she continued. "That's the beauty of it. No one but no one will know it's really the same skirt. I made so you turn it inside out and it's a different color, pattern, what-have-you. It's conversible."

"Reversible, dear." Mr. Landon came in with Jodie and Rachel then. "Jodie, Rachel, girls just give it a try."

Michelle Landon handed them each a canvas bag and the four marched upstairs. The adults headed for the parlour and took up comfortable positions.

A moment later Jake was applauding happily as the girls walked around the parlour. Daria and Jodie had predictably taken the simplest skirts and shirts while Quinn and Rachel sported the most colourful. Quinn attempted a walk like favourite actresses she had seen in features. Daria and Jodie did the barest necessary parading.

"Mom," Jodie told her mother. "These are really comfortable."

"Okay, okay," Michelle directed things. "That's enough, now back upstairs. Just turn these inside out, put 'em back on and smooth down the wrinkles."

"Those are the same clothes?" Jake asked in wonder a few minutes later as the girls made another parade circuit on the parlour rug. "Daria, get over here."

Daria recognized her father's 'business eyes' as she stood in front of his personal spot, an overstuffed wingback chair.

"Here Dad," Daria deadpanned under his scrutiny. She gave him a little turn. "How much could you get for me at the stockyards?"

Jake reached out and lifted the hem of her long skirt verifying that the inside was indeed of the material he had formerly seen on her.

"Dad!" Daria protested and pushed the skirt down needlessly.

"How much?" Jake asked.

"That's the beauty of it, Mr. Morgendorffer," Michelle explained. "It only costs a little more in time and money than a single skirt or dress."

"Yeah? Yeah! Oh, please Michelle, it's Jake. My partners call me Jake. Yeah, tonight I want to relax with my girls. Tomorrow let's draw up some figures."

Quinn smiled to herself as she trooped upstairs. _"Wear one day then turn inside out? I don't think so. How about wear one morning then reverse for the afternoon? I'll look like I can afford to wear two outfits in one day!"_

TD TD TD TD TD

"So Miss Deshima," Mr. DeMartino paused in front of Tiffany's desk. "PERhaps you would CARE to give us the reasoning of the Imperial Army in their inVASION of Manchuria?"

The precise slow pacing of the history teacher reminded Kevin of a wind-up toy or the metronome on the piano when his mother made him practice. Kevin had little idea what anyone was talking about; that ignorance, the man's slow pacing and Mr. DeMartino's soft then loud speech pattern could not hold his attention.

Kevin was slowly drifting off to an after lunch snooze at his desk. He momentarily came awake as the Japanese girl next to him shifted in her seat and stood. Tiffany had been assured several times that she did not need to stand to address her teachers but apparently old habits were hard to break.

Mr. DeMartino smiled and asked her to sit down but added, "MISS Deshima, you need not STAND to answer although the GESture is appreciated. PERhaps, however, we should institute the CUSTOM as it would help SOME people remain awake in class."

A few people laughed as he pointedly looked at the almost somnolent Kevin Thompson.

"Now PLEASE continue with YOUR thoughts."

"Sir," Tiffany said slowly. "Please, the correct name for the liberated region and nascent" Tiffany drew out the word, strange to Kevin and the intonation like honey poured out. "Independent country is 'Manchukuo'."

Tiffany pursued her points. "Our Army freed the Manchu people from the yoke of Han rule. And remember that our Army was protecting Japanese railway workers from Chinese persecution. Our modern railway is bringing the benefits of civilization to the Manchukuo inhabitants of all races after their long neglect and threats from the Chinese, uh, Chinese—."

Tiffany paused and riffled through a small book bound in red leather then looked up and concluded, "Warlords."

Jodie raised her hand and spoke when acknowledged, "The League of Nations sent a team to China to investigate. They reported that the Japanese invasion of northern China is not justified and that all Japanese troops should withdraw."

"There is no China," Tiffany said slowly. "There are only many small places controlled by many evil bushō, I mean warlords. Japan is bringing sta, sta, stability."

"The League recognizes that China is still unifying after becoming a republic," Jodie stuck to her guns. "Japan's desire to create their own empire in northern China doesn't help that."

"The League is many European empires." Tiffany retorted. "We are a small nation surrounded by empires much like we are surrounded by the sea. And all the countries in the West should thank Japan and its brave soldiers for protecting the region from the, the—"

Flip, flip on the book before Tiffany concluded, "Menace of the Soviet Union."

Kevin's daydreams were suddenly interrupted by a new voice joining the fray, a high-pitched male voice as oily as it was seeming sincere.

"Let us not forget," Charles Ruttheimer III said from the other side of Tiffany. "That the Japanese are the most industrious people among the Asian races, much like, their ladies are the fairest."

Tiffany ignored or was completely unaware of the leer which followed his piece.

"We trade heavily with the Japanese people," Charles continued. "As does the British Empire. The mutually beneficial trade will only increase as Japan modernizes China. The League should not bully one of their smaller partners only trying to grow and become stronger."

"_Wait," _Kevin thought_. "China? Japan? Why is Tiffany sticking up for the Japs? She's Chinese isn't she? I have to ask Mike, he'll know."_

Kevin remembered then that he had known Upchuck years before, before he acquired the nickname. Kevin's memory drifted back to when they were both about eight and he was defending the smaller boy from the cruel intentions of Kevin's friends who had wanted to practice boxing moves on Charles.

"Yeah," Kevin said out loud almost without thinking. "Bullies are mean even if they are your friends."

Teacher and class paused, stunned that the usually silent Kevin had expressed an opinion and one mostly on topic. Everyone paused except Tiffany who turned in her desk and flashed a warm, wide smile at him. That the smile made her eyes crinkle almost shut made his heart skip like he was jogging through tires on the practice field.

Mr. DeMartino paused his rhythmic pacing at Kevin's desk. He leaned over Kevin sensing an opportunity to prove to himself that the young man was not unteachable.

"Thank you Mr. Thompson. Perhaps YOU would like to CONtinue and VOICE for us your opinions of the League's actions OR LACK of same."

Kevin's brain took a well-deserved idyll. Here was something he knew about and could easily talk on at length, possibly as much as ten minutes. In his mind he was beginning to wave at the cheering crowd just like after he threw a touchdown pass.

"Well," He said. "I think their new rules on passing are going to be great for the game, speed things up and make it more exciting for players and fans. Yeah!"

He warmed to his topic unaware of Mr. DeMartino's left eye beginning to twitch.

"But you know, they want to change rules on blocking and tackling. Gonna make us all pansies, excuse my language, out there. Of course, as the QB I have to say, it might not be so bad if, at least in high school, tackling the QB at least was a little less rough. Now then…"

"ARRGGGHHHHH," Mr. DeMartino shouted suddenly. "Okay, CLASS. That's enough for today. You ALL NOW just read CHAPter three in _Making of OUR Modern World_ until the end of class. Nobody but NoBODY had better make a PEEP."

Kevin was confused but happy after class when his classmates who were also teammates congratulated him on his opinions and "putting one over on old DeMartino"; he was even more pleasantly puzzled by the shy, slow smile Tiffany gave him over her shoulder as she sauntered down the hall to meet her friends.


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay, Chief," Dexter and Jane's boss said to the artist Dexter. "You and the kid get busy with the background to let's see, Design C10, over them rental boxes there."

"Sure, George," Dexter said. "Right after lunch. C'mon Jane, let's sit outside with our chow. Not going to be many more nice days left."

Moments later Jane and her painter partner Dexter were hanging their white workpants-clad legs over the loading dock ramp of Des Moines' main post office. Jane unwrapped the wax paper on her ham and Swiss cheese sandwich and opened the jar of potato salad which her mother Amanda Lane had packed for her that Saturday morning. Jane smiled when she saw her mother had remembered to pack a spoon and fork even if they were not the company silverware. She uncorked her vacuum flask and offered lemonade to a grateful Dexter.

Jane enjoyed the warm breeze after a full morning inside the stuffy post office lobby where she was occupied being a gofer for the professional artists. "Go fer turpentine, kid" "Go fer more brushes, kid." "Go fer s'more alizarin crimson, kid."

She was running around whenever she helped the WPA artists paint murals in Des Moines' municipal buildings but was happy with the dollar a session and sometimes a quarter or two more and the experience was invaluable. Away from the boss's eyes many of the artists let her paint in details and even people.

Jane liked lunching with Dexter; he was good company, never got fresh, taught her a lot and even so did not treat her like a kid.

"So why do they call you 'Chief', Dex?" She asked the older man.

Dexter took off his painter's cap, fluffed up his blonde hair and said, "Isn't it obvious?"

The artist wore his neatly trimmed hair longer than most Iowa men.

"Your ancestors were ancient Viking chieftains?"

"Close. I made the mistake once of telling these yahoos that I have a drop or two of Choctaw blood in me. One, count 'em one great-granny."

He shook out his full blonde mane again. "You can tell it stuck."

Jane looked around carefully. They were alone. She leaned closer to Dexter.

"I'm one-quarter Oglala Lakota," Jane said quietly.

"Do tell," Dexter said mildly.

"Through my Dad," Jane elaborated. "We never really do anything about it. Got some cousins in the Rosebud rez in South Dakota. The only person who knows around here is my best friend. And she just makes jokes once in a great while about me scalping her dark red hair."

"Dexter Clanton," Dexter held out his hand in mock greeting.

"Jane Lane." Jane shook.

"Tell you what," Dexter proposed. "You don't call me 'chief' and I won't call you 'squaw'."

"Deal."

They shook on it.

Jane and Dexter silently finished their lunches and packed up. They looked out over the loading dock area until a gaggle of artists noisily came out the doors for a smoke. As they lit up, non-smoker Dexter stood. He extended a hand to help Jane up and they returned to the interior and their lobby renovation tasks.

"Well," Dexter said. "Let's see what this lovely new design looks like and get started."

He flipped open the full-color design template book to the prescribed page and he and Jane stared wordlessly at the double-page illustration.

"Those are some happy looking natives," Jane opined at last. "Not the stoical stone faces we aborigines usually show to the world."

"Yep, happy as well they should be; Injuns greeting the white man bringing the gifts of civilization."

Dexter turned the book this way and that while studying the wide wall, resigned to getting to work on the mural.

George the boss had an order for Jane immediately, "Hey, Kid, go fer…"

Before he could finish Dexter cut in, "George, I need Jane on this project. She has a great eye for proportion on a scene like this."

"Oh, okay. Sure thing, Chief," George turned to go.

"And George, it's 'Dexter', or 'Dex' I answer to."

George the bureaucrat threw up his hands, "Artists." He stalked off.

"You know, Jane." Dexter said when George was out of earshot. "This is a complex scene. I bet you could think of a surprise or two to hide like back in foliage or somewhere."

Jane smiled. "Dex, I'm only going to say this once, 'Sure thing, Chief' ".

**JL TL**

Jane heaved the happy sigh of a worker getting home as she closed the door of Chez Lane behind her. She answered her mother Amanda's greeting from the kitchen then went straight up to Trent's room.

Trent had the door open. He was sitting on his bed and looking at a 78 in his hands. As Jane silently stood in the doorway he looked up.

"Jane, me and the band, are we sell-outs? This crappy 78 just for some free studio time? It's not true to our vision. You and Daria are right to laugh."

"Trent, that's what I came to talk to you about." Jane sat down in a slightly worn wing-back which had been in the Lane's living room until Amanda took up upholstery design and repair. This source of income and Amanda's contacts had secured some slightly off factory specifications new chairs for the Lane's downstairs.

Jane rubbed her aching feet as Trent looked from the disc to her. "Trent, I was wrong to laugh at you and the guys. Apologize to them for me, would you?"

"That brother dearest," She pointed at the record. "Is not the Mystical Midnighters. It's just you guys putting out what some suit wants to sell stuff. You did what you had to do to get ahead. These days we all have to."

She studied the paint still under her fingernails. Trent shifted and sat up straighter.

"Really? But Daria..."

Jane did not let him finish. "Trent, you know Daria paints with words and her palette is sarcasm, satire and irony. I'll talk to her, she probably doesn't even remember. Oh, by the way, she says that Mr. Morgendorffer wants to hear your real stuff."

"He does?" Trent almost sounded excited at that.

"Yeah, he does. You mugs have a chance to favor the word with your 'vision' after all. Lord help us all."

"You're right. Swing," Trent shuddered. "Can't last forever. Sooner or later people gotta recognize how great it is to have a guitar in a jazz band. I'm reading about what they're doing in Paris. We're going the be the first in Iowa!"

"You guys are real hep cats."

Trent smiled. Amanda called a moment later and he and Jane went down to supper.


	3. Chapter 3

"**Daria, Daria." Rachel Landon called as Daria and Rachel's big sister Jodie approached the Morgendorffer's house.**

**Daria stopped and regarded Rachel and a friend skipping rope in the middle of the quiet street. Jodie smirked as she saw a tiny smile creep across Daria's face.**

"**Daria, teach us another song," Rachel requested. "You know all the fun ones."**

"**Rachel," Jodie said. "You better remember that the last song Daria taught you got you into loads of trouble at school."**

"**Jodie, we have to show our kid sisters the best things in life." Daria told her. "Who else will?"**

**Daria put her auburn hair back with a tight rubber binder. Jodie held her cheaters. Daria smiled as she took a jump rope from Jodie's friend. The three other girls watched as the shorter girl warmed up with the rope then began to skip faster and faster with one-legged skips, doubles and fancy manoeuvres. The girls were once again amazed at how the small teen-ager could move so adroitly in her heavy black boots.**

**Daria slowed and established a consistent rhythm at which point she began to chant in her monotone voice and at a volume to carry over her boots on the pavement, rope sounds and the breeze playing through the trees.**

_**Lincoln Beachey thought it was a dream **_

_**To go up to Heaven in a flying machine. **_

_**The machine broke down and down he fell. **_

_**Instead of going to Heaven he went to…**_

_**Lincoln Beachey thought it was a dream **_

_**To go up to Heaven in a flying machine. **_

_**The machine broke down and down he fell. **_

_**Instead of going to Heaven he went to…**_

**Jodie found herself clapping with the other girls and chanting along with Daria to memorize the lyrics.**

**Daria skipped through another repetition then handed the rope to Rachel's friend. They were about to launch into it when a call sounded from the Morgendorffer's front porch.**

"**Daria Louise Morgendorffer," Mrs. Landon's voice instantly stopped the girls. "How dare you teach my girls another awful song? Imagine, speculating about a man's eternal destiny just to skip rope!"**

"**Sorry, Mrs. Landon," Daria said with head down. Even so, Jodie thought she could detect a hint of a smile on her friend's otherwise placid face.**

**Mrs. Landon crossed her arms and frowned. Jake came out to the porch in his shirt sleeves and the two conversed.**

"**Kiddo!" Jake addressed his daughter. "You know enough to keep those songs to yourself."**

**He mused a moment then swung a dusty tan leather briefcase. **

"**Hey, I got it. How about you get the saddle soap, the leather polish and some elbow grease and clean up my best satchel here? Mr. Landon and I have a big meeting day after tomorrow. You can sing your songs to yourself as you brush and bull the way I showed you. Just like me in the AEF come to think of it."**

"**See, old man," Jake's sudden stance shaking his fist against the air prompted a side-ways look from Mrs. Landon. "I'm teaching my girl how to do things right. You never taught me anything, did you? You just sat there with your beer and told little Jakey how bad he was at doing everything."**

**Quinn came out to happily catch her sister getting into trouble. Helen joined the other adults on the porch prompting Jake to quit gesticulating. She was coming home early from the law office more often again, likely to give more work to men with families, Daria speculated to herself.**

"**And those boots of yours look like they could use a polish too." Helen added. "Remember our deal: if you insist on wearing those men's clodhoppers you have to at least keep them clean and shiny."**

"**Ishkabibble," Daria said almost silently as she took her father's business bag.**

"**What was that, young lady?" Helen said louder. "You know we can take that old radio out of your room, Daria. It's obviously a bad influence. Your sister would hate to miss Rudy Vallee you know."**

**Jodie almost giggled as Daria turned to her and mouthed a silent, "Ishkabibble-cubed."**

**Helen chose to ignore her daughter's scowl and implied backtalk. Daria took difficult classes and took home the best grades in school and she expected some rebellion from such a talented child. Two years before, the schools had proposed skipping Daria one or even two grades but the Morgendorffers felt their daughter needed to grow both physically and socially before she got into the company of older students.**

**Jodie's mother was not done yet. "And all you girls best get busy with your homework. If you don't have any I can surely come up with chores you can tackle."**

"**That reminds me," Helen added. "Daria, Quinn, you two go weed the kitchen garden. You know you can't let it go a couple days."**

"**Mom," Daria objected. "I've been learning in biology that some weeds attract butterflies, bees and other pollinators. You don't want to upset that balance by having us pull up those beneficials, do you?"**

**Quinn nodded vigorously, unsure what Daria had said exactly but recognizing she was trying to get them out of manual labor.**

**Helen folded her arms. "You know the deal Daria, it's have a garden out back, a pear and apple tree and do canning in the fall. Or—" **

**Helen smirked as she leaned over the rail to address her daughter up close. "Or would you rather take care of a pig and some chickens? Here a chick there a chick. Oink. Oink."**

**Daria sighed and Quinn shook her head aghast; both teens remembered the ultimatum posed with a choice which the parents had handed down a few years previous. Daria and Quinn had spent brief moments consulting in their shared bedroom before agreeing that raising vegetables was preferable to a pig and chickens. **

"**Old McMorgendorffer had a farm," Daria said monotone. "A nice, quiet, clean vegetable farm."**

"**And on this farm she had two field hands named Quinn and Daria," Quinn joined in.**

**AN: Daria's ditty is a jump rope song from 1920s San Francisco, CA. There is no support from canon but I have long had it as a head-canon that Daria is a skilled jump rope artist.**


	4. Chapter 4

Kevin's mouth gaped on empty air as Tiffany broke their kiss by dropping down from tip-toes.

"What is it, babe?" Kevin asked as Tiffany turned her face from his. "Is my Honest Abe costume beard tickling you, dollface?"

Tiffany giggled at another American piece of slang Kevin was teaching her. Then she assumed a serious expression once more and smoothed down her kimono. She put her cheek against his black suit.

"My father thinks," Tiffany drawled out. "He found out about costumes for this day. He thinks it is a shame and disgrace to wear my formal kimono as a Halloween costume."

"But babe, Tiff." Kevin protested as he pulled her closer. "You're such a looker in or out of that kimono."

"_And I bet I can get you out of it tonight." _Kevin thought.

"And you can tell the old man that you're giving us Iowa Ruebens a lesson in Japanese culture and stuff."

His relationship with Tiffany was expanding Kevin's horizons.

Tiffany pursed her lips and pulled away from Kevin as he leaned in to try for another smooch. She took a few steps down the deserted Lawndale Lane High School hall, a semi-secret place which Kevin's football player buddies had clued him in on for the practice of discrete necking.

"Kitten?" Kevin took a couple cautious steps toward her.

"He found our letters, QB." Tiffany said more haltingly than usual.

"We don't say nothing in them letters," Kevin protested. His suddenly developing sense of dread made him revert to the poor grammar habits which Daria, Jane, Mike and even Tiffany were slowly breaking him from.

"He doesn't want me communicating with any boy gaijin, eh, foreigner."

She turned back to him as Kevin gently took her hand. He did not want to grab and muss up at her elaborate kimono.

"I am sent back to Kyoto," Tiffany blurted out. "Day after tomorrow. I must learn proper behaviour and manners and customs for a proper Japanese girl to serve the Emperor and her nation. It is only fitting; Japan needs me."

"Aw, man."

Kevin reached for her as she slipped her hand from his and ran down the hall.

"Babe!" He called a little louder than he should have in the echoing hallway.

He ran after her as she swiftly climbed the stairs to the main floor. Tiffany was moving fast enough for him to consider that she would be a good addition to the Lawndale Lions passing game. At the top of the stairs they were met by Coach Gibson whose head whipped back and forth from one to the other as Tiffany zipped past him. Gibson stepped out in front of Kevin.

"Bank's closed, big guy," Coach Gibson commanded. "Hey, save your strength for the big Briarwood game, eh, Mr. President? After that you can squeeze your tomato as much as you want."

Kevin nodded and dropped his head dejectedly as he saw Tiffany joining her friends. He was confused as she was suddenly giggling and talking with the trio of girls. She turned just as they were starting for their next class and gave him a quick, inscrutable look. He wandered to history then for lack of anything else to do and barely listened to Mr. DeMartino lecture about the unification of Italy.

When the school day ended, Kevin managed to slip unnoticed through the halls even in his black suit and high stovepipe hat. Halloween revellers were everywhere, the boys discussing the best pranks to pull on the houses of the most hated teachers. The girls were complimenting each other on their ingenious uses of cast-off and clothing remnants in their home-made costumes.

The object of Kevin's pursuit slipped quickly out of school on her own. He followed Tiffany down the front steps of Lawndale Lane High and brushed aside football buddies who were inviting him to a party. Kevin got one last glimpse of Tiffany was her slipping into the chauffeured Packard.


	5. Chapter 5

"You look great, Jake," Andrew Landon smiled as he straightened Jake's tie. "You've been meeting with bankers and backers for years. Don't know why you're more nervous than me."

Jake coughed nervously and shook his head. The men moved further down the hallway and out of the dust motes floating in the sunlight streaming through the downtown Des Moines bank's high windows.

"I'm always nervous, Andy, until I get into the office and start jawing. Then, you'll see, I'm smooth as silk. You're a cool cucumber yourself I must say."

"I've got more butterflies in my stomach than our kitchen garden." Andrew admitted.

Jake patted his briefcase, his best brown bag which he had set Daria to polish.

"I've got everything in here. Just like we practiced, Andy. I'll do the talking about finances, costs and operations. If they come at us with technical details, you pipe up. Not likely at this point; these are bankers, not engineers. And you know these aren't the only bankers in the great state of Iowa."

The door to the conference room was opened on the sight of Andrew Landon straightening Jake's tie. The bank secretary nearly snickered but supressed his laugh; even in a stodgy, hidebound business like banking in a small Midwestern town he had seen enough to know that things weren't always what they seemed. Jake led the way into the room amazing Andrew with the sudden confidence in his step and demeanour. Andrew smiled politely at the men seated around a heavy, dark table being careful not to make it overly familiar. Some looked up with interest; a few with boredom and a few did not look up from the papers they were marking up on the huge table before them. An Oriental man rose and bowed, a gesture Jake elegantly and naturally returned on the spur of the moment further surprising and impressing Andrew.

A few bankers broke into some laughter then. The oldest man in the room stood and came forward to shake Jake's then Andrew's hands.

"You'll have to forgive Jimmy," the banker said with another surprise for Andrew in that he spoke with a heavy East Coast accent. "We broke him of the habit of bowing every fifteen minutes but he still likes to surprise people with it at meetings. Now, I'm Ned Steadman, bank president. You know me well enough, Jake but I have not met your partner. Come in, gentleman, and take seats."

The Japanese man smiled wryly and said in crisp British-accented tones, "Please let's get to work and review your loan request and investment proposals."

Andrew gulped finding himself tongue-tied and he was happy that Jake was opening his shiny newly-polished case on the table and beginning their spiel.

The bank secretary opened the door again nearly an hour later. Andrew suppressed a sigh of relief as he and Jake were ushered out by the Easterner Ned Steadman.

"Jake," Steadman said in the hall. "I don't know where you find all these rabbits you keep pulling out of your hat. We want our engineering consultants to look over Mr. Landon's figures and what-not which I know we money boys don't understand but really we are impressed. We'll get in touch soon."

"Thanks, Ned," Jake and Steadman exchanged a special handshake. "And we'll see you down at the Squirrel Lodge day after tomorrow."

The door closed behind them.

"You're a cool cucumber, Jake."

"Not really. I've been in dozens of meetings, Andy, but I always get nervous as a long-tailed cat in a parlor full of rockers."

Jake wiped his brow then looked down the hall.

"Ah, there is my next client. Andy, I think you can find your way back to Grand Schloss Morgendorffer. Tell Michelle I'm looking forward to her pork chops tonight. Make sure my girls pick some apples off our tree."

Andrew Landon nodded and looked Doug Thompson in the eye as he went past.

"Doug," Jake pumped Thompson's hand. "Mr. MacKenzie of Mac's Building and Remodeling should be along any minute."

"Hullo Jake." Jake and Doug turned as the greeting echoed down the hall.

A colored man smiled at them as he strode up the hall. He shook Jake's hand and ignored Doug Thompson's wide eyes and unoffered hand.

"Doug Thompson, this is John MacKenzie of Mac's. John, Doug here owns Thompson's Renovations. Gentlemen, I've been jawing for almost an hour and feel the need to whet my whistle. Let's take this to McGrundy's round the corner for a cold one. I'm buying." Jake proposed.

"Sure thing, Jake. It's late enough in the day for a little nip," John said jovially. "Tell you what, fellows, I have a bit of business to contract myself in the bank. Won't take me ten minutes. Then I'll meet you there. You know Doug, I think my boy, Mike, has caught a pass or two on the gridiron from a Thompson. Any kin? Well, let's talk in a bit."

"Jake," Doug Thompson found his voice as he followed Jake to the stairs. "MacKenzie, he, that is, he's colored. You want us to partner?"

"And he owns the fastest growing home repair shop in Polk County," Jake said. "And you've got one of the oldest. You both got workers with skills and experience the other doesn't. And you currently serve clientele the other doesn't'. That can change."

Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he had somehow picked up from Daria.

"Look, Doug, the economy's picking up steam. People have some confidence again with Roosevelt in office a few years now. Folks let home repair and improvements sit undone for years to save money and it's time for businessmen like you and John to get that trade. Now, look, the pie's still small, no telling when or if it gets any bigger. You two can endlessly underbid each other and cut each other's throats or you can figure out how to join forces. Join forces and get by, maybe better than getting by, hmmm? Just. Like. In. The. War. John was in the Great War too. Maybe he was in the trench just a mile from you? Who knows? Let's bend the elbow and find out."

To Doug's open mouthed doubt and disbelief Jake added the clincher, "And I've seen his money. It's green, Doug. Just. Like Yours. Money always gets by."

**THE END**


End file.
